A Dark Lord's Survival Manual
by Mighty Pen 20
Summary: Admittedly, canon Harry is not the sharpest chopstick in the drawer, and the way he defeats Voldemort confirms that. What other methods would such a... challenged individual employ to defeat the greatest Dark Lord of all times?
1. Chapter 1

AN: JKR's hidden notes, featuring alternate ways to get rid of our favorite Dark Lord have finally come to light! (Seriously... not.)

I don't own HP or Star Wars.

* * *

 _Let's shake it!_

"He's lying… I can tell! Let me speak to him, face to face…"

Harry shivered as he heard a second voice emanate from the back of his Defense professor's head. When the taller man started unraveling his turban, his instincts told him to flee; who knew what was there after all! He might attempt to torture him with some of the garlic he hid in there!

Before Harry could make a decision though, Quirellmort had turned around, showing his true face. A caricature of a man was drawn upon the back of the bald professor's skull, its characteristics barely discernible or human.

"There is no escape from Lord Voldemort, boy… Give me the stone willingly, and I shall fulfill one of your wishes."

Who the hell did he think he was, the lamp genie?

"I don't want anything from you!" Harry yelled at him, clearly panicked. "You killed my parents, asshole! You-"

"How about this then," the shade of Voldemort said in deceptively silky tones. "Since you resent me so much for that, I shall simply bring them back if you give me the stone."

In all honesty, Voldemort could not see what the fuss was about; parents were definitely overrated. After all, he grew up without them, and he had turned out fine! Alas, he would indulge the boy if that got him the stone without any struggle.

Harry's eyes widened at the unexpected offer. His previous anger had all but evaporated upon hearing that there was a chance he would be meeting his parents somehow.

"Can you really do that? How do I know that it is not a trick?" Harry asked, voice filled with both hope and suspicion.

"Dumbledore," Voldemort sneered upon uttering the name, "will tell you that there is no spell to bring the dead back to life. But, he has not done the research that I have. He has not treaded the dangerous paths of magic, or risked his very soul to make new discoveries. I have. With this artifact, I can bring anyone back to life."

Harry subconsciously realized what that meant. Voldemort would also bring himself back. But he did not care. Getting his parents was worth anything.

His eyes shone with happiness. "So I give you the stone, and you bring my parents back. Right?"

Voldemort's ugly face tried to put upon a mimicry of a smile. "It is a deal, little kid." _Finally._ _Now give me the stone, give the stone, oh yes…_

"Pinky promise?" Harry asked in his most innocent tone, extending his right hand in a fist, with his pinky finger extended.

"Pinky - what?" Voldemort asked, partly curious, partly terrified.

"If you pinky promise, you have to keep your word no matter what. I have seen it before," Harry insisted.

 _Whatever gets the brat to cooperate._ "Fine. Quirell! Turn around and seal the deal," he ordered. The servant obediently did so, and extended his right hand's pinky to meet Harry's.

"It is a deal then, little man. Pinky prom-AAAAAAHHHHHH – IT BURNS MASTER, IT BURNS!"

Upon making contact with his little finger, Quirell's body was set upon flames and in moments, it crumbled to the ground in a heap of ash.

"Hey, get back up! Where is my mom and dad?" the young wizard yelled furiously. And then he realized something. This had been the plan of Voldemort all along. To give him some hope, and then take it away, disappearing in his… ashes.

Even hours later, when Dumbledore was congratulating him on his noble character and self sacrifice, Harry was still pouting. Dudley had lied; pinky promises were definitely not foolproof.

* * *

 _You're my – what?_

The day was nearing its end, and the sky had taken a deep red hue, unknowingly representing all the blood and death that had been spilt in front of Hogwarts School of Wizardry.

The final fight between the forces of good and evil had been devastating, bringing about destruction and chaos neither side could have imagined.

And now, as the day was almost over, the number of able-bodied fighters on either side had almost dwindled to nothing. Only two people could still be seen fighting; a raven haired teenager with round glasses and a lightning bolt carved on his forehead, and an older man whose face resembled that of a snake's were trading spells fervently, causing unimaginable collateral damage to the field around them.

They had been at it all day, and finally, Voldemort's experience was coming through. While Harry's magic had been steadily weakening, the Dark Lord held strong, outlasting his opponent's magical reserves. Every spell was like a hammer on young Harry's shield, making him skid backwards continuously.

Harry finally gasped as a particularly strong whipping spell shattered his Protego Maxima and brought him to his knees, right at the edge of a cliff near the borders of Hogwarts' grounds. He had nowhere to go now.

"You are beaten. It is useless to resist. Don't let yourself be destroyed just like Albus did," Voldemort said in a triumphant tone.

The bruised and bloodied face of Harry Potter sneered uglily at the memory of Dumbledore being soundly beaten earlier on, and our hero raised his wand again, attempting for a surprise attack.

Voldemort was prepared though, and with a wordless snarl, a dark streak of cutting energy left his wand, severing the Chosen One's wand arm. Harry could only scream through his pain, as he watched desperately his torn limb, wand still clutched in its palm, fly through a bloody arc before it fell off the cliff, to be swallowed by the valley below.

"There is no escape. Don't make me destroy you, Harry. You do not yet realize your importance. You have only just begun to discover your power. This fight will end right now if you will it. Join me, and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can finally end this conflict, and bring order to this country."

"I will never join you!" Harry uttered through the haze of pain he was feeling.

"If only you knew the power of dark magic…" He paused for a second. "Albus never told you what really happened to your father."

Harry was beyond furious. "What was there to tell me? Everyone knows what happened. YOU killed my father!"

Voldemort stared at him dramatically for a long minute, saying nothing. "No. _I_ am your father."

"No, it is not true… that's impossible!"

"Search your feelings deep within you," the snake-like man pressed on. "You know it to be true."

"NOOOO. NOOOOO!" Harry writhed on the ground, the pain in his heart a thousand times worse than that of his amputated arm.

Voldemort did not budge. He still stared at the fallen young man expectantly.

"Harry, you can destroy Fudge. Trelawney has foreseen this. It is your destiny. Join me, and together we can rule Magical Britain as Father and Son!"

Harry was desperate. The dark army had taken a serious hit in that day's battle. However it was all for naught, since he had lost so many of his beloved friends and allies in return. And finally, the culminating point of the day: he'd lost the fight to Voldemort. Add to that the unlikely revelation along with the madman's sick offer, and he was ready to finally give up. He wildly looked around, his gaze finally setting beyond the cliff's edge, down to the jagged, unforgiving rocks in the valley below, patiently waiting to swallow whoever fell off.

That was it. He would jump.

All his problems would be solved. He would be with his loved ones again, finally.

He would be in peace.

He turned back for a last parting shot to Voldemort, his father. His father? – Oh God! How disgusting! His thought synapses - too fast to be stopped from going down the slippery slope - made the next logical connection; if Voldemort was his father that meant the man had actually gotten laid. And that meant… oh no…

Those mental pictures that would haunt him for the rest of the eternity were enough to make Harry's stomach twist violently, and with a loud heave he vomited explosively.

As it happened, he was facing Voldemort at the time, so the first projectile ended up on the Dark Lord's robe, while the second one formed a puddle around his right foot. Voldemort, the most accomplished duelist, the man with snakelike reflexes, could have easily shielded himself from the onslaught, but his surprise had stopped him from doing so.

His look finally hardened as he surveyed the mess that his son had made, and he took an abrupt step forward to teach him a lesson.

"Why you little- aaaargh!" Unfortunately, he had forgotten to check his surroundings, and therefore slipped on the vomit puddle, his kinetic force making him arc right above the fallen Harry, and off the cliff.

"NOOO!" He yelled desperately just as his body was splattered messily on the rocky terrain three hundred feet below.

Dumbledore, who had just arrived at the scene, looked on from afar. He leaned heavily on his conjured walking stick, twinkling happily despite his debilitating injuries.

"Well done, my boy, well done. The prophecy has been fulfilled," He muttered at last.

Albus had never been prouder. His young disciple had finally conquered his archenemy, if in an unorthodox manner. And he really could not believe it himself that in the end the power the Dark Lord knew not turned out to be vomit, and not love. But a prophecy is a prophecy after all, so they have to be respected no matter what! Right?


	2. Chapter 2

_What was this again?_

A loud, creepy and sibilant voice emanated throughout the Hogwarts' grounds and the ancient building itself.

"You have one hour to come to the forbidden forest, Harry Potter. One hour to surrender yourself without any resistance, and everyone else shall be spared, I promise. Dark Lord's honor. The clock is ticking. Tick tock."

'Quietus,' Voldemort thought and the voice enhancing spell was nullified immediately.

"Well, that should do it. Potter is too much of a noble hero to pass up an offer to save the lives of the others, even at the expense of his own," Voldemort told his amassed Death Eater lieutenants, grinning sadistically.

"Of course the plan shall work my Lord. After all, you devised it, and you never are wrong," Bellatrix said with a loving tone in her voice. The dark-lord-obsessed witch was kneeling at Voldemort's feet, her arms thrown around his right leg possessively.

Voldemort considered cruciating her so that he would be left alone to his evil plotting, but then thought better of it. Anything that kept Bella quiet and happy was worth the trouble. So, he would withstand her fanatic worship for a bit more.

As long as she did not start humping his leg of course, like the other night…

Everyone went quiet as they waited for the boy who lived to show up. Voldemort made an idle flick with his wand, and a large magical bonfire that everyone could sit around appeared. Of course, while his minions simply sat down on the ground, he conjured a golden throne for himself.

Everyone positioned themselves in a perfect circle, in the same order as the night they had appeared before their master in his freshly rebirthed state, three years ago. Crabbe and Goyle sat at the furthest point from the Dark Lord, grunting and mumbling between them. Walden Macnair had a large double edged axe in his lap, which he was petting dutifully. Closer to the dark Lord sat Lucius… who was busy brushing his long, immaculate blond hair. Hair knots were the real source of evil, after all.

So they waited. And the time went by, but no Harry Potter showed up…

"One minute left, my lord." Dolohov finally said.

Voldemort had his eyes closed, displaying a façade that was the epitome of calmness. "I know, Antonin," he said as he stood up. "And I must confess that I am very disappointed in him. I was so sure that he would show up. So very sure... Alas, I was mistaken. We will simply have to…"

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

The loud sound of a small, round item rolling towards the dark lord echoed in the otherwise silent forest clearing. Every single eye, masked and unmasked, took note of its trajectory until it ended up at the Dark Lord's feet.

Voldemort, perplexed, picked up the green metallic sphere and brought it close to his eyes to give it a better inspection. He scrunched his face in confusion as he tried to remember where he had seen it before.

"What is this muggle trinket?" He finally asked himself.

At that exact moment, the grenade went off with a loud BOOM BOOM BOOM, rendering everything within a ten meter radius into blood, fire, and red, raw flesh. When it was finally over, all that could be seen was a number of burning bodies. Amongst them, one was headless; Voldemort, being right in the epicenter of the explosion had taken the brunt of it. If anyone looked any closer, they would also discern the burning remains of a huge cobra snake nearby.

"Wow, it actually worked," a raven haired teenager said as he entered the clearing. He whistled in appreciation as he took note of the devastation that the small item had wreaked.

Harry grinned. Everything had worked out fine. After getting hit by a stray killing curse on his way to the forest, he had found himself in a train station, alone with a baby. The baby was so ugly, that he had decided to throw it to the rails, just as a train arrived to run over its head with a loud squelch.

In an even more unvelievable turn of events, Dumbledore had disembarked that train. He had started to deliver a doubtlessly well-rehearsed speech to Harry, before noticing the bloody, headless baby body below the train.

He had finally said, "Aha, now there is a nice idea. Harry, once you wake up, you will go back to my office, and open the third drawer. Inside you will find…"

And thus Harry Potter ended up using a grenade that was a relic from World War 2, and a heirloom of Dumbledore - a bitter reminder of all that he had once lost- , on Voldemort.

And then, as the wise saying goes, splat.

On a completely unrelated note, that was the day that the legend of the boy-who-bombed was born.

* * *

 _The grease he knows not_

Lord Voldemort was bored.

It was no surprise, really. He had been cooped up in Malfoy Manor for too long. His last outing had been a resurrection ceremony in a dark graveyard, and ever since then, all he had done was hide in the spacious mansion, biding his time and bemoaning his lack of Trelawney's prophecy. Of course, that was not what he told his underlings. According to them, he was 'strategizing'.

The dark lord sighed once again. No matter how much he looked around, there was nothing interesting to do in that place. Sure, Lucius kept a stock of young boys imprisoned in his cellar, but even that got boring after a while. He had tried muggle board games, and even resorted to video games. The latter option had been a success somewhat - at least, until he got beaten in a multiplayer game from one of his underlings, which caused both the console and said Death Eater to fly off the nearest window.

So, Voldemort was once again sitting on his expensive throne, watching as his minions moved around performing their assigned tasks. He wracked his brain for an idea, for something new to do.

And it was at that moment that Severus Snape entered the room in all his greasy glory.

'Now that's an idea,' Voldemort thought as he took notice of the potioneer's abnormally shiny hair.

"Severus, come over here at once," he commanded.

The greasy spy did as his lord commanded. He reached the throne at once and kneeled in subservience.

"What does my lord need from me?

Voldemort furrowed his invisible eyebrows in thought.

"Tell me Severus, that grease in your hair, is it flammable?"

"Pardon me, my lord? I would not presume-"

"So, you've never thought about it either. Hmm," the dark lord pondered. "How about we test that theory then?" He said in excitement, adopting that mad scientist's look as the wand in his hand emitted shiny sparks.

xxx

Lucius Malfoy and his wife apparated at the edge of their manor's wards.

"What a nice, productive day," Lucius told his wife happily.

And it had been such a day, indeed. They had decided to take a break from playing hosts to the Dark Lord, so they'd visited Diagon Alley. First, they had gone to the most expensive hair salon and had their hair tended after. Then, they had visited a pedicure salon, where a nice lady had taken care of both their cosmetic needs. Lucius sighed happily again as he buffed his freshly manicured fingernails against his chest.

Finally, the day had ended excellently, as Lucius had visited Borgin and Burkes and managed to procure a rare polishing kit for his pimp cane. Really, the only thing he was missing now were the hoes.

He embraced his wife lovingly, and muttered, "I feel as I nothing in the world can go wrong now."

As if on cue, it was at that moment that an almighty detonation went off inside the manor, destroying it completely. The force of the explosion threw both of them on their asses.

Narcissa looked at the huge mushroom of flames that formed above their home, which was accompanied from a loud rumbling as the complex structure went down.

"Wha- ah?" She tried unsuccessfully to form a coherent sentence.

Lucius, next to her, said, "Don't worry. We can fix this easily."

And fix they did. Somehow, Lucius managed to convince the Wizengamot that the dark lord, whose body was found inside the rubble, had been lured in a trap by him; as a model civilian, he had done what he could to bring him down, even at the expense of his own home. He was hailed as a hero and a dark lord slayer, his feat remaining in the annals of history next to those of Harry Potter.

Later on, the unspeakables that processed the scene would claim that the cause of ignition was an undocumented greasy substance, pretty much like a mix reminiscent of muggle uranium and trinitrotoluene.

And thus the story ends. Unfortunately, our favorite potions professor never got any credit for his achievement. Well, at least, not washing his hair proved to be good for something.

* * *

Well, there you go. I won't hide it; I love killing Voldemort with explosions, so you get two of those.


	3. Chapter 3

Well, if you are still reading, you will have probably already guessed that things would get even stranger at some point…

* * *

 _Nice to meet you!_

The bushy haired eleven year old stood at the train compartment's entrance, looking eagerly at the scene in front of her. A redheaded boy had its wand out and was about to cast a spell on a rat.

"Oh, so you already know some magic?" She asked. "Well, let's see it then."

Without asking for permission, she sat next to the black haired boy, and crossed her arms on her lap.

Both boys looked at her, gaping.

"Well, get on with it!" She finally said impatiently.

Harry grinned, while Ron's face reddened.

"Fine, fine," the redhead said. "This is a spell Fred and George – two of my brothers - showed me. It is supposed to change a person's skin colour. You must point it to your tummy and cast it. I thought it safer to test it on my rat first, though."

Hermione nodded excitedly. That made sense.

"Alright then," Ron cleared his throat nervously. "Burpious!"

If Ron was any cleverer, he would have realized that the prank spell Burpious would cause a person to literally burp, by creating higher pressure inside one's stomach. Unfortunately though, the spell was not designed for small animals. Thus, the small mouse started inflating, and its loud squeal was followed by a pop; it literally popped like a balloon, filling the compartment with blood and rat… guts.

Thus Peter Pettigrew died, which resulted in Sirius never deciding to flee Azkaban. Of course, no Peter meant no Barty Crouch Junior rescue either, and definitely no Dark Lord's resurrection. And thus, Voldemort remained in the dark, dank and dirty forests of Albania, possessing snakes and eating other animals' shits for the rest of eternity.

And that is how Ronald Weasley ended up saving the day with none ever realizing it.

* * *

 _The ceremony_

 _'Finally',_ Babymort thought as he witnessed, safely clutched in the arms of his servant, the portkey's arrival to the dark graveyard.

A thunder-like light illuminated the scene for a second, and the previously empty space was suddenly occupied by a dark haired teenager sprawled on the ground.

"Goddamn portkeys… stupid transportation," he bemoaned to himself as he tried in vain to stand up.

"Excellent!" the small humanoid in the arms of Wormtail said in a raspy voice. "Bind him and start with the ritual immediately, my servant!"

Harry's head snapped up at those words, his befuddled mind barely able to realize what was happening before he was bound by an incancerous spell, courtesy of his parents' traitor.

"Voldemort, Wormtail," he hissed, while trying in vain to wriggle free of his bindings. "I'm going to fucking kill you!" he roared.

"Welcome to my resurrection ceremony, Potter," mini Voldemort said, ignoring his nemesis' threats. "Bind him to the stone, and get on with it immediately, Wormtail!"

Harry sighed as he was being tied up to a nearby grave. ' _Every year this same shit… At least Cedric isn't here. Who knows what would have happened then. Thank god I left him to be eaten by that spider…'_

In the meanwhile, Wormtail was busy filling a nearby human sized cauldron with water from his wand. When he was finally done, he looked at the baby caricature in his arms, as if for confirmation, and then dumped it inside the cauldron with a loud splash.

"Drown, bitch, drown!" Harry muttered incoherently through a haze of pain - his numerous injuries were taking their toll after all; he just wanted this crap to be over with, and get back home to sleep or something.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" Wormtail uttered the first words of some kind of ritual, and a nearby grave trembled; the headstone cracked, and from within came a fine white powder, only to be dumped inside the cauldron. The water started glowing with an ominous, luminescent cyan color.

Wormtail, satisfied, moved on to the next step. "Flesh of the servant," he whimpered, "Willingly given, you will revive your master!"

Slash. The rat-like traitor cut his arm halfway to his elbow, and with another sickening splash it fell in the cauldron, whose contents now turned a dangerous red color - the color of his blood.

"What are you doing, you retard?" Harry found himself telling the man. "Don't you understand the ritual's wording? A finger or even some chopped off flesh would have been fine!"

Wormtail was moaning pitifully , clutching his arm in pain, and offered no response. Next thing Harry knew, the rodent animagus was right next to him; he could hear his loud panting somewhere to his left. The ritualistic knife – the same one he had used to off his arm-, carved a wicked scar on Harry's bicep, causing a few droplets of blood to gather on the flat surface of said knife. Wormtail started walking slowly and carefully towards the cauldron once again, making sure to not drop any of the precious blood on the ground.

He finally arrived and said, "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will –" THUMP!

Behind him stood Harry Potter, a bloody shovel in hand, watching as Wormtail fell to the side right before he could drop his blood in the cauldron. He sneered at the moron. Apparently, he didn't know of the breathing trick that allowed one to escape from a tied-up-in-ropes situation.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I will be taking it from here," he muttered as he stepped close to the rim of the cauldron and looked inside.

The baby-like dark lord was completely submerged in the thick red, semi-transparent liquid. It seemed he had no problem breathing- thanks to magic no doubt-, and he was now looking up at Harry with murder written in his misshapen eyes.

"Sorry, but that look won't work when you are in an ugly baby's body," Harry said.

"Bwha- bwha, Hrmphhhhhnkkh!" Voldemort tried to say, but only bubbles came out of his mouth.

"Hey, don't get all mad," Harry grinned at him. "I've read about this ritual in the restricted section before, so I can finish it for Peter!"

"NOOhmphrlnk!" Voldemort bubbled on.

"What? You approve? Really? Great!" Harry rubbed his hands in satisfaction.

He first moved on to Wormtail and chopped of some of his hair.

"Balding hair from an ugly servant, give your lord… a semblance of hairstyle!" Upon dropping the hairs inside, the potion turned a vivid pink color.

"What else, what else?" Harry pondered. He looked around and found a lunch box –Seriously Voldemort? Within it was a vial with a green liquid and a half eaten greasy sandwich: Voldemort's and Peter's respective lunches. They must have been waiting there for a while after all.

"Well, that should do as well. For a healthy appetite!" Harry tipped off the vial, which as he would find out later contained Nagini's venom, and the sandwich inside the cauldron.

"Oh no!" He yelled in exasperation. "I forgot to remove the wrapper! Ah well, whatever."

Harry had grown bored by that point. There was nothing else interesting to add in the cauldron…

"Oh well, just to make sure this works correctly…" He finally said. He dropped his pants, thought of Fleur in that tight bikini, and rubbed a quick one out, aiming for the cauldron. After he was done, the mixture had gone blindingly white for some strange reason.

"Well, my job is done. You may resurrect!" Harry said indulgently, and touched the cup-turned-portkey which sent him back home, just as the ritual was completed and the Dark Lord emerged from the cauldron.

Well, to be accurate, what emerged was not exactly the Dark Lord…

It was a young boy, pale faced, and with snake like features. Moreover, instead of being bald, as expected, he had a lot of hair, both on his head and his face. The huge beer belly that flopped around with every step completed the picture of the young mustached midget.

"Potteeeer!" was all he managed to yell before he keeled over and died of heart attack due to his body's unstable internal structure.

xxx

And the winner is… Harry Potter!" Bagman yelled with his enhanced voice, causing all the viewers to burst in a standing ovation.

Harry simply grinned and waved back. All was well.

* * *

 _And a random one..._

"My lord, I think the time has come," Lucius said.

"The time has come for what, my faithful Death Eater?" Voldemort asked from atop his throne.

"The time to finally confess to you why I am really one of your followers."

Voldemort scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Fine, make it quick."

"These things cannot be rushed, my lord…"

"Speak or I shall cruciate you."

"Fair enough my lord. You see, ever since our Hogwarts days, when I first heard of your achievements, I have, well…"

"Well, what?

"You know!"

"No, Lucius, I don't know! And when I don't know things, I tend to get violent, so tell me now!"

"Please my lord, stop tempting me. Ah, never mind. What I meant to say is that ever since then, I have liked you."

"That is completely normal, my child. Every one of my devoted followers abide by and enjoy my preachings."

Lucius rubbed his foot with the other one shyly. "That is not what I meant, my Lord. I like you the other way."

"The other way?"

"Yes, that way."

"That way.. oh!" Voldemort cringed as a light bulb flashed within his head. "That is.. er , flattering, my servant. However, I am sorry to say…" He paused, not sure how to let him down.

"I understand, my lord. You like women, don't you? Is it Bella?"

"What? Like women? God's sake, no! It's not that. The problem is that you are too old. I you were, say, twenty years younger, something could be done.."

The effeminate Death Eater scowled upon seeing his advancements being rejected. "So, you dare say no to me? ME? How could you! Just wait until I hear about this! Oh wait, I already have! Avada Kedavra!"

Voldemort, too surprised by his faithful's rambling and nonsensical monologue, was too late to react and ate the killing curse full on the face.

Lesson of the day? Hell hath no fury like a Lucy scorned.

* * *

Okay, maybe I don't like Lucius… maybe. But he makes a good Dark Lord vanquisher, no? Harry can sleep soundly, knowing that someone else is picking up the slack.


End file.
